“Thank you for your help,” Rand said in a tight voice. “I will return tomorrow.”
“It is my pleasure to do what I may,” the man said with his false smile.
Rand stalked out of the guardhouse so fast that Loial had to hurry to catch him up in the street. “He was lying, you know, Loial.” He did not slow down, but rather hurried along as if he could burn away some of his frustration through physical exertion. “Caldevwin was there. He could be lying about all of it. Ingtar could already be here, looking for us. I'll bet he knows who Selene is, too.”
“Perhaps, Rand. Daes Dae'mar —”
“Light, I'm tired of hearing about the Great Game. I don't want to play it. I do not want to be any part of it.” Loial walked beside him, saying nothing. “I know,” Rand said at last. “They think I'm a lord, and in Cairhien, even outland lords are part of the Game. I wish I'd never put on this coat.” Moiraine, he thought bitterly. She's still causing me trouble. Almost immediately, though, if reluctantly, he admitted that she could hardly be blamed for this. There had always been some reason to pretend to be what he was not. First keeping Hurin's spirits up, and then trying to impress Selene. After Selene, there had not seemed to be any way out of it. His steps slowed until he came to a halt. “When Moiraine let me go, I thought things would be simple again. Even chasing after the Horn, even with — with everything, I thought it would be simple.” Even with saidin inside your head? “Light, what I wouldn't give to have everything be simple again.”
“Ta'veren,” Loial began.
“I do not want to hear about that, either.” Rand started off again as fast as before. “All I want is to give the dagger to Mat, and the Horn to Ingtar.” Then what? Go mad? Die? If I die before I go mad, at least I won't hurt anybody else. But I don't want to die, either. Lan can talk about Sheathing the Sword, but I'm a shepherd, not a Warder. “If I can just not touch it,” he muttered, “maybe I can ... Owyn almost made it.”
“What, Rand? I didn't hear that.”
“It was nothing,” Rand said wearily. “I wish Ingtar would get here. And Mat, and Perrin.”
They walked along in silence for a time, with Rand lost in thought. Thom's nephew had lasted almost three years by channeling only when he thought he had to. If Owyn had managed to limit how often he channeled, it must be possible to not channel at all, no matter how seductive saidin was.
“Rand,” Loial said, “there's a fire up ahead.”
Rand got rid of his unwelcome thoughts and looked off into the city, frowning. A thick column of black smoke billowed up above the rooftops. He could not see what lay at the base of it, but it was too close to the inn.
“Darkfriends,” he said, staring at the smoke. “Trollocs can't come inside the walls without being seen, but Darkfriends ... Hurin!” He broke into a run, Loial easily keeping pace beside him.
The closer they came, the more certain it was, until they rounded the last stoneterraced corner and there was The Defender of the Dragonwall, smoke pouring out of its upper windows and flames breaking through the roof. A crowd had gathered in front of the inn. Cuale, shouting and jumping about, was directing men carrying furnishings out into the street. A double line of men passed inside buckets filled with water from a well down the street and empty buckets back out. Most of the people only stood and watched; a new gout of flame burst through the slate roof, and they gave a loud aaaah.
Rand pushed through the crowd to the innkeeper. “Where is Hurin?”
“Careful with that table!” Cuale shouted. “Do not scrape it!” He looked at Rand and blinked. His face was smudged with smoke. “My Lord? Who? Your manservant? I do not remember seeing him, my Lord. No doubt he went out. Do not drop those candlesticks, fool! They are silver!” Cuale danced off to harangue the men lugging his belongings out of the inn.
“Hurin wouldn't have gone out,” Loial said. “He would not have left the ...” He looked around and left it unsaid; some of the onlookers seemed to find an Ogier as interesting as the fire.
“I know,” Rand said, and plunged into the inn.
The common room hardly seemed as if the building were on fire. The double line of men stretched up the stairs, passing their buckets, and others scrambled to carry out what furniture was left, but there was no more smoke down here than if something had been burning the kitchen. As Rand pressed upstairs, it began to thicken. Coughing, he ran up the steps.
The lines stopped short of the second landing, men halfway up the stairs hurling their water up into a smokefilled hallway. Flames licking up the walls flickered red through the black smoke.
One of the men grabbed Rand's arm. “You cannot go up there, my Lord. It is all lost above here. Ogier, speak to him.”
It was the first Rand realized that Loial had followed him. “Go back, Loial. I'll bring him out.”
“You cannot carry Hurin and the chest both, Rand.” The Ogier shrugged. “Besides, I won't leave my books to burn.”
“Then keep low. Under the smoke.” Rand dropped to his hands and knees on the stairs, and scrambled up the rest of the way. There was cleaner air down near the floor; still smoky enough to make him cough, but he could breathe it. Yet even the air seemed blistering hot. He could not get enough of it through his nose. He breathed through his mouth, and felt his tongue drying.
Some of the water the men threw landed on him, soaking him to the skin. The coolness was only a momentary relief; the heat came right back. He crawled on determinedly, aware of Loial behind him only from the Ogier's coughing.
One wall of the hallway was almost solid flame, and the floor near it had already begun to add thin tendrils to the cloud that hung over his head. He was glad he could not see what lay above the smoke. Ominous crackling told enough.
The door to Hurin's room had not caught yet, but it was hot enough that he had to try twice before he could manage to push it open. The first thing to meet his eye was Hurin, sprawled on the floor. Rand crawled to the sniffer and lifted him up. There was a lump on the side of his head the size of a plum.
Hurin opened unfocused eyes. “Lord Rand?” he murmured faintly. “... knock at the door ... thought it was more invi ...” His eyes rolled back in his head. Rand felt for a heartbeat, and sagged with relief when he found it.
“Rand ...” Loial coughed. He was beside his bed, with the covers thrown up to reveal the bare boards underneath. The chest was gone.
Above the smoke, the ceiling creaked, and flaming pieces of wood fell to the floor.